


On The Side

by chewsdaychillin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Movie Night, Office sleepover, When Harry Met Sally - Freeform, jon has a crush and is stupid about it, post-mag22 colony, the og gang in pyjamas watching a rom com thats literally it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25051066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewsdaychillin/pseuds/chewsdaychillin
Summary: ‘Here we go,’ Tim had announced loudly and very proudly over the squeaking of wheels as he pushed the rickety old thing into the room.‘Why do we even have one of these old things?’ Sasha had asked. ‘I’m sure I never saw any haunted videotapes down in artefact storage...’‘Maybe Gertrude understood the importance of workplace bonding over 'When Harry Met Sally'.’
Relationships: (pre relationship), Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, implied past jon/tim, implied past tim/sasha, implied tim/martin, tim/everyone :))
Comments: 18
Kudos: 186





	On The Side

‘Does Martin seem down to you?’ Tim had asked, leaning against Jon’s doorway as he’s wont to do around four fifty-six PM. ‘I did say he could stay at mine instead.’ 

‘Your sofa isn’t exactly the comfiest,’ Jon had reminded him. ‘I don’t know. He can’t be thrilled with staying here - not exactly the Ritz. I mean he seems...’

He’d thought about it. They pass each other in the hallway. Take turns spitting toothpaste over the sink. Sometimes Martin will chivvy him into the kitchen for one last decaf tea, or ease papers out of his hands with his patronising brand of caring.  
  
‘Comfortable. As much as we can be. I mean, we get along alright.’ (Tim had hummed at that.) ‘But down... maybe. Is right.’   
  
Tim had suggested they do something to cheer him up, or rather said that _he_ was going to plan something to cheer Martin up, and Jon had agreed. Contrary perhaps to popular belief, he doesn’t like to see people down. And he does really sympathise - he knows how uncomfortable the airbed is.   
  
‘Fine,’ he’d said. ‘That sounds fine.’  
  
He had not expected Tim to suggest himself and Sasha join the workaholic and the orphan of the worm storm for a corporate sleepover. 

‘Here we go,’ Tim had announced loudly and very proudly over the squeaking of wheels as he pushed the rickety old thing into the room. 

(They’re in document storage, which has recently become ‘Martin’s room’.)

‘Why do we even have one of these old things?’ Sasha had asked. ‘I’m sure I never saw any haunted videotapes down in artefact storage...’ 

‘Maybe Gertrude understood the importance of workplace bonding over _When Harry Met Sally.’_

‘Oh seriously? Tim, _again_? You must have seen that hundreds of times! Doesn’t Martin get to pick?’ 

‘This _is_ Martin’s pick!’

‘I don’t believe you for a second! Martin,’ Sasha had insisted, elbowing him gently as Tim had fiddled with the scart lead, ‘don’t let Tim bully you into watching more bloody 80s rom coms.’ 

But - 

‘Oh, no,’ Martin had promised her, ‘it’s fine, I like this film.’ 

And - 

‘There, see?’ Tim had said as the picture flicked, wobbly and blue, into life. ‘If it was my pick we’d be watching _The Princess Bride.’_

Everyone had groaned. It seems Tim has subjected them all to his references at least, if not a whole re-watch where he quotes the whole thing and tells trivia over the important dialogue. 

‘You are a walking cliché, Stoker,’ Sasha had laughed, shaking her head. 

So now they are doing the supposed ‘workplace bonding’, and Jon is standing in the corner of what is supposed to be an extension of _his_ archive, arms crossed tightly over an old t-shirt, socked toes curled on the dirty lino. 

He’s acutely aware of the fact that he’s in pyjamas. Tim’s not seen him in anything but a tie for a good few months, not since the move and his becoming ‘boss.’ It’s a bit weird - being here again, recognising Tim’s old Christmas-coloured tartan pyjamas, knowing Tim recognises his, whilst being at work. With other people. 

Martin has seen this faded shirt and old cuffed bottoms too of course, but Jon’s rather got used to that, and it doesn’t worry him so much since he can hardly be called incompetent by _Martin._ Still. He probably doesn’t look 38 without his work shirts and glasses, even with the greys. Sasha’s never seen him wear anything but work stuff - shirt, blazer, maybe a jumper on a late night. He thinks she might be on to him. 

No one else seems to be uncomfortable in sleep wear. He supposes Sasha and Tim wouldn’t be - they seem so easy around each other. And Tim is easy around everyone so it makes sense he isn’t thrown by it all. He seems particularly easy with Martin, pulling him down onto the airbed and clapping a hand on his knee. Which is interesting. 

Mercifully, the knee isn’t bare, since Martin seems to have decided this evening isn’t one for wandering around his boxers. Instead he’s wearing grey trackies, which is a far more professional choice, and Jon’s grateful he can at least _look_ without having to awkwardly glue his eyes to the floor. He truly could _not_ have coped with them all ‘hanging out’ like this in their underwear. 

They’re still technically at work. Plus, it gets warm enough in here with four bodies - he doesn’t need to go any redder. Tim always clocks him for it and he’s not in the mood for that sort of dressing down. It’s not fun in front of people. He’s supposed to be in charge. 

Trackies are fine, he decides. He can actually stand to look as his assistants all bundle in together on the airbed. And he reasons that’s probably step one to making _friends_ with them. The grey cotton looks soft, when he does look. It rather invites looking. The stripe down the side doesn’t lie straight over Martin’s hips or thighs when he squishes in next to Tim. 

‘Coming, boss?’ Tim asks, snapping Jon’s eyes away from... wait, what was he looking at? 

‘Oh, um.’ 

The film is fading up from black, jazz playing, and Sasha is waving him to join them and the quicker he does the less awkward it will be if he’s going to do it. Is he going to do it? He should probably sit on the end furthest from Martin, next to Sasha - keep it professional, avoid the mess of... whatever that he gets around the other two. 

But he wants to sit on this end really. Something about soft trackies and the fact he’s slept a wall away from Martin in this old shirt for a week now. It seems easier. 

‘We’ve got space,’ Sasha assures him. 

She nudges Tim and they all shift sideways. The airbed shoots up at the corner and Martin pushes it back down, looking a bit embarrassed. 

‘You’re missing it!’ 

‘The credits?!’

‘They’re part of the vibe!’ 

Jon sits whilst the others are distracted bickering, and the airbed shifts and rolls a bit as he tries to distribute his weight. 

‘Sorry,’ Martin mutters, shuffling up even more. 

‘No, it’s fine.’ 

Tim shushes them again and Martin’s smile is the same shy one he’s been doing a lot recently when they run into each other in the corridor. 

Tim needn’t have worried; the film starts with far too much close-up kissing and very 80s gender roles, and immediately, predictably, he is talking over it anyway. 

‘So, Sash, what do you make of this whole men and women can’t be friends thing?’ 

Jon rolls his eyes to himself, but when Sasha says ‘Oh shut up, Tim,’ he laughs, quietly but out loud, and hears Martin laugh next to him. 

‘Oi,’ Tim says, plaintive and grinning his charming grin. 

The scene is funny, light-hearted. Stupid and aged. Everyone is laughing a bit then, quiet but not to themselves.

‘I suppose,’ Jon tries, and they all turn to look at him. ‘I, uh. I suppose the 2010s version is ‘can people who are attracted to each other ever be just friends?’’ 

He’s not sure whether he hoped this to be a clever, dry commentary on the 80s heteronormativity of the film, or a funny joke that would make them all forgive that he’s their no fun boss. Probably the former since he’s not allowed to be fun.   
  
Actually what happens is it gets a bit awkward and Tim avoids looking at him. Avoids looking at any of them actually. The film goes on and Jon decides to keep his commentary to himself. It’s just a stupid rom-com anyway, he doesn’t have anything nice to say. 

The others ooh and ahh over Meg Ryan’s wardrobe and Tim promises Sasha she looks even better in a turtleneck and 40s trousers. 

The argument over _Casablanca_ forces Jon to admit he’s never seen it and Martin looks at him like he’s grown an extra head. Somehow that actually makes him grin instead of shrink or get defensive. 

‘What?’ he cocks an eyebrow.

‘But it’s so iconic!’ 

‘Well exactly, so I don’t need to watch it. I know the ending and I know all the lines, the songs. What’s the point?’ 

‘That’s ridiculous!’ Martin insists, scandalised. But he’s also smiling. 

They go back and forth on whether or not this is reasonable for a good minute, and Jon finds he’s as delighted by being argued with as he is surprised. So far his extent of back and forth with Martin has been over whether or not he needs sleep and this is a lot more fun. 

He stammers to a regrettable stop however, when he catches Tim grinning at him. It’s the _oh yeah?_ grin with his _oi oi_ eyebrows and it almost never fails to make Jon go red and, this time, scowl and wish he wouldn’t. The butterflies are very inconvenient in the basement, and when he recognises the annoying ones he gets from Tim’s bloody smile he realises they were already there. 

Well. That’s not so good. He’d almost forgotten he was in his pyjamas. He shivers a bit and tries to focus on the film, or on the others, and not on whether or not Martin’s trackies count as pyjamas and if he’s going to sleep in them tonight. 

Sasha is talking about Nora Ephron’s authorship and quoting someone or other. Tim is telling her he can’t wait for her to cite Mulvey in the cafe scene. 

Oh, God the cafe scene. 

Jon spends the whole thing with one arm folded tight across his chest and his other hand shielding his eyes. Tim is having a competition with the TV it seems, and so far he is beating Meg Ryan for the loudest, most unprofessional, fakest sounding, outrageously inappropriate moaning. 

And everyone is laughing. 

‘Seriously?’ Sasha tells him, ‘I know you don’t actually think that’s convincing.’ 

Tim throws his head back and shouts. It’s so very un-him and as much as Jon would very much like to melt into the floor his cheeks are threatening to crease. 

‘That was fake as anything.’

Tim clutches his chest. ‘I would never!’ 

Martin splutters a laugh then. His hand lands on Jon’s knee as he laughs and Jon peeks through his fingers at it. He lets his own laughter break, and it comes out almost a bit delirious as he’s looking at it. His knee is very warm and he almost misses what they’re laughing at. 

‘You haven’t have you?’ Tim is asking Sasha. It goes a little bit too quiet as everyone looks at him. ‘Just,’ he backtracks, and now it’s _his_ turn to go a bit red, ‘just cos, you know. Women’s rights. Sex positivity. You know. You don’t have to.’

Sasha rolls her eyes at him. 

It’s weird and suspicious and highly inappropriate. Probably deserves a frown. But then Jon catches Martin’s eye again and his cheeks hurt a bit trying not to smile. He just about manages it but Martin doesn’t, lighting up like a Christmas tree, and that’s alright because the whole point of this was to cheer him up. 

The only other awkward moment is when Harry and Sally finally... make it. And the next scene is them insisting it’s a mistake. No one says anything, for once. All rapt in the movie or their own thoughts. Jon tries not to look at Tim, since he’ll only feel guilty when he _was_ right before, to say it would be a mistake to keep going, and they _did_ agree on it. 

Instead he looks next to him (he keeps looking next to him) and sees Martin’s face fall a bit more than is maybe passable for just the movie. Just a bit. He’s not sure how to fix it. God, this whole thing was supposed to be to cheer him up, it’s a bit awkward if it doesn’t work and - 

But it passes. Tim knocks his foot into Martin’s foot and Martin gives him half a smile, a less shy one than he’s been giving Jon outside the kitchen, but a grateful one. He knocks Tim’s foot back and the tension seeps out of the shoulder that’s pressed against Jon’s side. 

So that’s something. A relief. Is what it is. 

It’s only a little thing. Sasha doesn’t even seem to notice. But Jon notices it and doesn’t like the feeling of... something sour in his stomach. No, sour is harsh. It’s just strange. It’s unprofessional. Tim used to play with _his_ socks like that under the table in their research nooks, and he’d quite like Martin to smile like that at _him_.   
  
Oh. Would he?   
  
He’s just decided it can’t be jealousy because that would be stupid when Tim makes another cliché move. The oldest in the book. He yawns widely, both hands high in the air, and brings one down around Martin’s shoulder.   
  
Well, alright, Jon thinks, but this really is the last straw. Whatever he’s decided isn’t jealousy is squirming up his chest because Martin looks a bit embarrassed, a bit pink in a way that suits his face, but not annoyed. He doesn’t throw Tim off.   
  
Jon glares resolutely forward at the television. It’s a sad scene anyway so he doesn’t need to fake a smile, even though he’s being selfish by not. This whole thing was supposed to cheer Martin up, and now Martin is smiling, so that’s the important thing. And Jon doesn’t want to be involved anyway. He can’t be involved, he’s their boss. He shouldn’t even be here gate-crashing since they’re all such good friends. 

He hears it really before he feels it. The quiet swoosh of split ends rubbing together. He glances down and sees Tim’s hand, reaching across Martin’s shoulder, fingers playing gently with Jon’s hair.

Tim always used to do that - walk his fingers up Jon’s hair when it got too long, twirl it like a phone cord where it was lying across his pillow. Jon should probably be annoyed at it now. But as it is, it abets whatever he was feeling before and gives him an excuse to lean sideways. If Martin feels his shoulder, hears the air bed creak, he doesn’t say anything. 

By the end of the film he can feel Martin’s shoulder shaking a bit, and though the others _aww_ and take the piss out of him for him, Jon doesn’t. His eyes haven’t been dry since Harry started running. He looks at his socks and blinks them back into line as the credits roll. 

‘Bless your cottons,’ Tim is teasing, poking Martin’s thigh. ‘You are such a sap!’ 

‘Leave him alone, Tim! As if you didn’t cry last time we watched this.’ Sasha reminds him. 

Tim makes an exaggerated sniffing sound, and it’s tempting to look up to see if he’s really crying, because he does cry loudly anyway and likes to pretend it’s ironic. But Jon doesn’t look because he’s still a bit red. Doesn’t until Martin’s hand is in his periphery. 

‘Tea?’ He’s asking everyone, standing up and sending everyone wobbling as the airbed adjusts. Then, ‘Jon, could you give me a hand?’ 

Jon will probably have a crick in his neck tomorrow from how fast he looks up then. He knows he’s staring and tries to scowl instead because why is _he_ being asked to help with the tea of all things. Of all people available. He gets why Martin’s hand is there now - he’s supposed to take it. 

He only hesitates a second because everyone is looking (Tim and Sasha are still laughing with each other but he can still imagine them looking) and what if his hands are clammy and he can’t have them see him crying over a stupid movie. But it’s just a second. It’ll be more awkward if he doesn’t take it and he supposes it’ll give him an excuse to leave the room. 

It occurs to him, as Martin’s pulling him up and doesn’t drop his hand till they’re through the door to the corridor, that that was probably exactly the point. Then it occurs to him, again, that Martin is probably cleverer than Jon’s been giving him credit for. As well as nice. As they make it to the kitchen and he sets about filling the kettle, doesn’t ask for any help, it occurs to Jon that he’s grateful. 

He pulls four mugs down from the cupboard and wipes his eyes. He doesn’t say ‘ _thank you_ ’, but they look at each other in the little silence the kettle boiling gives them and smile, shy and a bit pink from sappy crying. A shared hum and a huff of laughter before they look away again, go to the cupboard for tea and the fridge for milk. 

Come to think of it, it would probably have been more professional just to say ‘ _thank you_ ’. Tim is going to be a nightmare about this. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading! this was so fun n cute to write. 
> 
> you might know already but im currently taking fic commissions as a way to supplement my income doing something i love to do. you can find my post w prices n details [here](https://babyyodablackwood.tumblr.com/tagged/fic-commissions) ! 
> 
> i also now have a kofi! if you arent interested in a commission but u like my writing then pls feel free to chuck me a couple quid [here](https://ko-fi.com/chewsdaychillin) x
> 
> no pressure, thank u all for ur support however u show it love u all jtmcu gang 4 life x


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